http://www.mybluesand.com/0803_al146.html
刘苇
艺术家总是一些异类，他们身上有一种神秘的特质，从远处看，绚丽夺目，缤纷斑斓，造成了他们作品非同凡响的品质。但赋予他们作品奇异的精神元素同时也影响着他们精神的歧义。艺术家是天生的。因为，在他们精神中有一种普通人不具备的素质（我选择怎样的字眼好呢）：疯狂、迷幻、极度的忧郁或痛苦、不能控制的激情、专注于自我、幽闭或狂躁等等。翻开一部艺术史，令人伤心地看到，那些一流的作家和艺术家，都感到自己处在一种精神崩溃的边缘；有的则直接走向精神崩溃的深渊。精神分析家们从中可以找到丰富的个案进行研究，并毫无困难地宣称，心理的异常正是造成他们作品非凡的根源。可是，令人喟叹的是，这一点并不由你选择——是要生活正常，还是要艺术上的非凡？
伦敦。1963年2月11日的冬天，异常寒冷。西尔维娅躲在一间小屋内，孩子们在哭泣，壁炉内是潮湿的，窗外下着雪，诗稿凌乱地撒在桌上、地上，她头发飘闪，神情紧张……这是我想像中的《西尔维娅》电影的一个场景。那一年，她年仅三十一岁。生命的花朵正是艳丽开放的时刻，却突然凋零了。“一如乌云洒下一面镜子去映照自己缓缓/消逝于风的摆布”。她在诗歌中曾经这样暗示着。死亡，更确切地说，是自杀，在她的心灵深处被美化成一次优雅的舞蹈，一种自我的飘扬，是雪花般圣洁绽放后的迅速融化。
西尔维娅·普拉斯（Sylvia Plath，1932—1963）美国著名的自白派女诗人，小说家。她的父母均为教师，八岁那年她父亲去世。这是她第一次接触到死亡，也是她一生的转折点。当母亲告诉她父亲的死讯时，她决然地说：“我不再与上帝通话了”。之后，她不断在诗中歌吟死亡，也曾多次试图自杀：
“死去是一种艺术/和其他事情一样/我尤善此道”。“我又做了一次/每十年当中/我要安排此事”。“看，黑暗从爆裂中渗出／我不能容纳这些，我容不了我的生命”。“从灰烬中/我披着红发升起/像呼吸空气般地吞噬男人”，“像猫一样可死九次”。“这女子已臻于完美/她死去的/身体带着成就的微笑”。
在大学期间她学业出众，每门功课都是优等，获得多项奖学金。大学二年级时因出色的写作才能被纽约时装杂志《小姐》选中应邀担任该杂志的客座编辑。一个月的纽约生活如同梦幻一般，豪华的宴会，漂亮的时装，与仰慕的作家共同创作。但好景不长，不久她就陷入在精神分裂的磨难中，直至进入麦克林精神病院被进行电疗。她的自传体小说《钟形罩》（The Bell Jar）就是描写这一段经历。
这部小说如同她的诗歌一样，是她的精神自传。在小说中很少有明晰的场景，主要是她通过自我之眼看到的变动的、片段似的、梦幻与现实交织在一起的景象，犹如她内心独白中闪回的布景。小说被丰盈的自我感受所包围：青春期的烦恼、热烈而莫名的向往、跃跃欲试的冲动、期望被男人勾引、对未来躁动不安的憧憬和犹疑不定的选择，企图尝试一切又逃避一切的心理、疯狂地冒险和极力地压抑……一如用快速的镜头扫过内心所有的角落，一个矛盾集合的多元体，像是在玻璃杯中倒入令人迷醉的幻象并用现实加以搅拌。她一边用变换的场景来作她心情的告白，一边用严格的句子写下头脑中混乱的思想。真是一部杰作！
她的极度敏感形成了她容易受挫的心理；迷恋内心生活使她易于与现实进行对抗；过分好强造成她疲惫和虚弱；对事物完美的追随促使她对自己过多的抱怨；精神压抑其实是来自心灵的亢奋；对生命的认真推动她最终走入生命的虚无；追求诗歌的深度却在心中布满了痛楚。所有这一切又可以反过来认证。原因和结果在她的心内是同为一体。晕眩与纯净，错觉与清晰，恐惧与喜悦，黑暗与宁静，愤怒与怜悯，亲切与卑微，死亡与新生就是这样交织在她的诗中，也成为《钟形罩》的意象源泉和氛围元素，宛如雨滴淋湿了书中的标点。
1956年2月，西尔维娅·普拉斯获得一笔奖学金获准去英国剑桥留学。她在那里邂逅了英俊的英国诗人特德·休斯（Ted Hughes，1930—1998），两人立刻坠入了情网，并闪电似地结婚。当时普拉斯称休斯为“世间惟一能与我匹配的男子”。但不幸的是他们的婚姻出现了裂痕。有人怪罪于休斯的风流；可能更隐蔽的原因是出于普拉斯难以控制的疯狂。1962年普拉斯与休斯分居，她单独带着儿女在伦敦居住。同年休斯与Assia Wsvill同居。普拉斯在数月内突然面临的剧烈的生活变动，以及生活拮据所带来的压力，《钟形罩》刚刚出版却反映平平，与休斯办理离婚手续过程中承受的巨大的精神痛苦，促使她再一次地选择了自杀。但这一次，上帝成全了她。从她到英国至死亡正好整整六年。
在世人眼里是这场婚姻造成了她自杀的导火线。休斯成了不可逃避的罪人。她的小说和诗歌也由此获得了好评。直到她死后二十多年，休斯才出版了他的诗集《生日信札》（Birthday Letters），这是写给普拉斯的诗。诗集出版立刻引起了关注并唤起了人们再度对普拉斯的热情，同时也在不同程度上改变了世人心目中休斯是罪人的看法。据此，英国和美国为纪念普拉斯逝世四十周年刚刚拍摄完她的传记影片。
普拉斯的杰出成就是不可模仿的，她用一种精神直觉来直接抵达作品的深处，她挖掘丰富的自我和情感因素，用全部的生命力量进行创作，直至内心出现幻象。说不清是因为疯狂形成了非凡的作品，还是由于这样的创作方式造成了他们的疯狂。自白派中另一位诗人洛威尔也步普拉斯的后尘进入了麦克林精神病院。大提琴家杜普雷因癫狂而崩溃。吴尔芙最终难以抵御内心的忧郁在口袋中装满鹅卵石走入河中……他们都是过于敏感的人，时常不能摆脱内心幻象，是以精神直觉进行创作的艺术家。唉，生命是一曲赞歌也是一曲挽歌，正如普拉斯在《钟形罩》中所说：“奖杯上刻着的日期就像墓碑上的日期一样”。
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- Re: 鏁忔劅銆佸够璞°�佺簿绁炵洿瑙� 鈥曗�� 缇庡浗鑷櫧娲惧コ璇椾汉瑗垮皵缁村▍銉绘櫘鎷夋柉posted on 02/05/2005
看了以后，突发奇想。
诗人艺术家之所以成为诗人艺术家，是因为他们与自己的的精神距离太近，近到其他人以为是正常的东西，看起来都太大，过渡刺激的结果，有才气的，便滔滔不绝地，千奇百怪的倾泻出来，成为作品。而过剩的情绪积累下来，会凝成毒剂，腐蚀不受节制的意识（即胡思乱想）与理性之间的距离，形成短路，到达疯狂。
信手乱弹，已是深夜，故原谅自己。不想发疯－——可能也不具有疯狂的才具。 - posted on 02/05/2005
Daddy
--- by Sylvia Plath
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time ----
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
- Re: 鏁忔劅銆佸够璞°�佺簿绁炵洿瑙� 鈥曗�� 缇庡浗鑷櫧娲惧コ璇椾汉瑗垮皵缁村▍銉绘櫘鎷夋柉posted on 02/05/2005
"艺术上的非凡"——只不过是把自己的灵魂挂在时间的耻辱柱上任人唾弃
觉得所谓的平凡的生活 和所谓伟大的艺术之间没什么可比性
人们面临的问题似乎是永恒的失败（对死的恐惧） 但如果一旦正视这一点失败似乎也没什么意义了 同样 虚无也失去了其作为虚无的特性~~这是究极怀疑的断语
没人能在这种状态下思考 只好无望地臆断~~纳粹兄不必太当真 - Re:posted on 02/05/2005
叛逆
是文字的使命
虚妄是背叛后的自由
善待各种各样的脚本吧
它们全将死在命运的手上
- Re:posted on 02/06/2005
叛逆
是文字的使命
虚妄是背叛后的自由
善待各种各样的脚本吧
它们全将死在命运的手上
我喜欢!
- posted on 02/07/2005
is this the poem she wrote before her suicide?
it gives you a chilly feeling
Susan wrote:
Daddy
--- by Sylvia Plath
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time ----
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
- Re: Daddyposted on 02/07/2005
一句话：高处不胜寒！ - Re: Daddyposted on 02/08/2005
Yes adagio, I think this is one of the last poems she wrote. Very chilly.
I am reluctant to analyze artists' suicide attempts in a romantic or abstract way. They share common people's desires and agonies. It takes only one cold night to push people over the edge, and it may only take one beef noodle soup to pull them back. :-)
adagio wrote:
is this the poem she wrote before her suicide?
it gives you a chilly feeling - Re: getting out of chillinessposted on 02/08/2005
Yes, a bowl of warm beef noodle soup indeed! And for Adagio, dripping some Vitamin C into the drink/food for thought may bring her back to normal.
Hope you feel better, Adagio, and get ready for Chinese New Year and Spring Festival!
- Re: Daddyposted on 02/08/2005
then your rest life may have to be lived to pay back that one beef noodle soup. :)))
Susan wrote:
and it may only take one beef noodle soup to pull them back. :-)
Thanks Little, I am much better now. Wish you (and all others) a happy Chinese new year. - Re: 褰撹瘲浜虹柉浜�posted on 02/09/2005
当诗人疯了
她以太阳光谱为竖琴
弹奏起超声波中
莫扎特遗忘的旋律
萤火虫飞入黑洞
脑血管裂变出原子
持地狱之火穿过人间
去天堂劫持歌声
撒旦哭丧着脸
上帝吹着口哨
芸芸众生看一出戏
该笑的哭 该哭的笑
没有我世界太硬了
疯了的诗人喃喃自语
于是以自己为石碑
刺刻下一篇墓志铭
- Re: 褰撹瘲浜虹柉浜�(鑽夌ǹ)posted on 02/10/2005
该笑的哭 该哭的笑~~^……
我开始渴望归依宗教 哈 多么虚伪呀 算了 注定被驱逐的人 注定要通过流浪才能坚强 - Re: Daddyposted on 02/12/2005
Daddy is considered the "Guernica" of modern poetry. There is anger but more triumph, especially the last line: Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I am through. You can listen to Plath's reading of it here:
http://www.learner.org/catalog/extras/vvspot/video/plath.html - Re: Daddyposted on 02/12/2005
are you sure it's Plath's voice? doesn't feel like her.
triumph or not depends on how you look at it, she finally succeeded to kill herself, yeah that's the triumph of her intense will power. still, she left sadness and depression in the poem. - posted on 02/12/2005
有时想到死的念头。有次手术后醒来发现自己还活者，心里有些懊丧，想那样无忧无
虑的死掉多好。死的原因很简单，感到今后的生活人会逐渐的变老，身体会经受痛
苦，更可怕的是看自己的面容一天天老去，为那无止境的俗事奔忙，烦。红尘未断
又希望隐居深山，在俗世和清静中内心挣扎，很无奈。
这样的想法都不敢讲给家人听，知道他们会很生气的。心爱你的人那么多，怎么忍
心让他们因为你而悲痛呢？有责任感在内。
有次和先生说起半身不遂怎么办？我想就结束自己的生命算了。先生回答，一个叫
HOOK的人，全身瘫痪，只有大脑思考，也没有去自杀，而是用他的脑子思考，创造
HOOK理论，最终拿到诺奖。
我震撼，感到还是太幸运的缘故，人生里的多少苦痛还没有经过。也许到病死，痛
死，老死，经历了苦而不只是甜后这样的人生才算完整的吧。
胡思乱想写写，生活还是要继续。:)
- Re: Daddyposted on 02/15/2005
生命是一曲赞歌也是一曲挽歌! - posted on 02/15/2005
你是说 Stephen Hawking (霍金)吗? 他的<时间简史>在国内好像是畅销书,他的中国籍博士生翻译的. 讲的是宇宙的起源理论.但最近他对自己的理论有重大修改,还开了新闻发布会.
我思故我在. 笛卡儿的这句名言是挺有效的良药.
霍金不但活在他的工作里,也活在爱情里. 作博士生时,已身患重病,行动有困难,经常摔倒,说话开始含混不清, 却有一个好女孩爱上了他,两人后结婚生子. 若干年后,友好分手. 霍金后来又恋爱结婚了, 据说只有其妻等少数人能听懂他的话. 平时沟通靠的是机器,但还能讲课. 前年曾来过中国讲课, 一时颇轰动.
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